


close enough to the truth

by thekatriarch



Series: jyn & cassian have a conversation [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekatriarch/pseuds/thekatriarch
Summary: “I’d like to keep you alive, too.” He did, too. He’d said it without thinking about it, and it was true. Against his better judgment, he sort of liked her, which was another complication that he didn’t have time to worry about right now.* * * * *A conversation on the way to Jedha
Relationships: Cassian Andor & Jyn Erso
Series: jyn & cassian have a conversation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113449
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	close enough to the truth

Cassian Andor had a problem, and her name was Jyn Erso. He wasn’t yet sure exactly what kind of problem she was, but something about her had bothered him as soon as he’d seen her defiant, angry face in the sickly light of the command center, and he was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake.

Involving Jyn Erso had been Cassian’s idea; he’d been the one to figure out that Galen Erso’s daughter was still alive; that Saw Gerrera had known her; that he might be willing to talk to her. He hadn’t slept for two days trying to locate her before it was too late. Now she was here, and he wasn’t sure this was such a good idea.

But he didn’t have a better one, so they were going. A lot of things were going to have to go right for this plan to work. He didn’t feel good about it.

Especially now.

“Do you have any idea how unlikely it is that we’ll be successful?” asked K2. “I’ve calculated that there’s an 82.761 percent likelihood that Saw Gerrera has already killed the Imperial defector, and a 67.9 percent chance that he will kill you within—”

“Thank you, K,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I get the picture. Do you have an alternate suggestion? A way to achieve our objective with better odds?”

K2 didn’t answer right away, and then, reluctantly, admitted, “no.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Perhaps we should revisit our objective—”

“No. Give me a break, will you, K? Do you know how long it’s been since I slept?”

“To the best of my knowledge, it has been fifty-two hours and twenty-seven minutes since you last—”

“It wasn’t a real question,” he sighed. “Fifty-two and a half hours, really?”

“It is a long time for a human to go without sleep,” said K2. “We will not arrive at Jedha for another six hours and thirteen minutes. Perhaps you would like to sleep now.”

Six hours. Better than nothing. “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea. Can I trust you not to antagonize her?”

“I have no interest in antagonizing anyone,” said K2.

“Somehow you’re very good at it anyway,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I will prevent her from shooting you,” said K2.

“She’s not going to shoot me.”

“No, she won’t. Because I will prevent her from doing so. I can’t believe you let her keep that blaster. I’ve been running simulations—”

“Okay. Great. Please shut up. I can’t sleep if you’re talking to me. And just… leave her alone, all right?”

Asking K2 to shut up was like asking snow not to fall. K2 was constitutionally incapable of shutting up. This was Cassian’s fault, in part; he wasn’t an expert programmer in the first place, and reprogramming K2 had been hasty and improvised, out in the field, not ideal conditions for that kind of work. The results had been decidedly mixed.

“I’m only trying to help,” said K2, sulkily. Cassian ignored him and tried to sleep.

When he woke up four hours later, K2 wasn't in the cockpit, which meant he and Jyn Erso were together on some other part of the small ship. That couldn’t be good news. Hopefully neither of them had killed the other. He stood up and went to investigate.

Jyn was cooly ignoring K2, who was watching her like he thought that if he took his optics off of her for a moment, she was going to attack. Jyn glanced at him, hearing him enter the cabin. “Very welcoming environment you rebels provide,” she said. “Prison didn’t have surveillance like this.”

“K2,” said Cassian. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“I have not done anything to her,” K2 objected. “I am merely ensuring—”

“K. Leave.”

The droid made an offended, huffy sound, and stomped out. “Sorry,” said Cassian. “He thinks you’re going to shoot me.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Where did you get that blaster?” he asked.

“Told you. I found it.”

“Found it where?”

“Okay, fine,” she said with a tiny hint of a smile. “I found it on someone. But it’s hardly my fault if your people are so poorly trained they don’t notice their own blaster getting lifted, is it?”

She was right. “When we get back, you point him out to me,” he said. “I’ll have a little talk with him.”

“Terrifying, I’m sure.” 

“Anyway, you know people let their guard down on base. Or you wouldn’t have tried it, right?”

“Well, you shouldn’t let people you kidnapped wander around on your base, then. Still not my fault. I suppose you’d go to fucking _Jedha_ unarmed with some person you don’t even know?”

“‘Kidnapped’ is an interesting way to say that we broke you out of a prison camp you were going to die in.”

She snorted. “So instead I’ll die on Jedha with you. Gee, thanks, Captain.” 

“Jedha’s not that bad,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Another roll of the eyes. This was not going well so far. “How reassuring. Anyway, if Saw’s there, then it’s bad.”

He nodded. Things on Jedha _were_ bad, and had only gotten worse since Gerrera set up shop there. “But Saw knows you.”

She laughed a sharp bark of a laugh. “Have you ever _met_ Saw?” she asked. “Trust me, he doesn’t give a shit. He ditched me five years ago and I haven’t heard from him since. If you’re pinning all your hopes on Saw caring about me, your rebellion’s in more trouble than I thought.”

“My rebellion?”

“Well it’s not mine.”

He’d gotten her talking, at least, but things weren’t going in the direction he’d hoped for. If there were any chance of this working, he needed to get her to trust him. 

“So you’re not curious?” he asked. “Why your father would send a message to Saw now, after all these years? You don’t want to know what he has to say?”

She shrugged, but he was pretty sure that she cared more than she was admitting to.

“Who knows why anyone does anything?” she said. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen my father since I was eight years old.”

“Tell me about him,” he said, voice pitched to make it an invitation, not a command.

She met his eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I just told you I haven’t seen him since I was a child. And it’s none of your business. Why don’t you tell me about _your_ father?”

“My father’s not building weapons for the Empire.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you. None of this has anything to do with me.” She leaned her head back against the bulkhead. “Look, I’m doing what you want. I’ll try to convince Saw to talk to you. He’ll probably kill us both, but I’ll try. But the rebellion? That’s your fight, not mine. I’m done with all that.”

Done with all that. He was quiet for a moment, considering his strategy, but also feeling… what? Most people in the galaxy didn’t have much of an opinion of the rebellion one way or the other. Few people really _liked_ the Empire; many would be just as glad to see it end; but people willing to actually sacrifice anything to make that happen were the exception. So there was no reason at all that it should bother him that Jyn Erso was done with the rebellion. That she didn’t care.

But it did. Bother him. A lot. She’d been in the fight, and then she’d walked away. How could someone do that? It would be like saying your whole life had been wasted. Like _his_ whole life had been wasted. 

“You really don’t care?” he said at last.

“About the rebellion?” She shook her head. “It’s pointless, isn’t it? You can’t beat the Empire. You’re stupid if you think you can.”

He nodded, slowly. The odds were very much against them, as K2 reminded him at least once a day. “But you have to stand for something,” he objected, weakly. “I mean it’s worth trying, isn’t it?”

She snorted again. “‘Stand for something.’ Right. I’m sure that’ll be a great comfort to you when you’re in an Imperial holding cell. Or dead.”

“I’m going to die no matter what,” he pointed out. “Everyone dies.” 

“Well, I’d like to postpone my death as long as possible. And yet here I am, with you, going to Jedha. I guess we don’t often get what we want, do we?”

“I guess not.” He had to keep her talking, but the conversation was getting as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. He wasn’t sure where to go next, so for the moment, he said nothing.

A few minutes passed in silence, and then she spoke: “He’s a conscript, you know.”

“Who is?”

“My father. I mean he didn’t… he’s not there because he wants to be.”

“No?”

“No. I know you won’t believe me. But it’s true.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. “So.”

“So why is he building this weapon, then?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not because he wants to.”

“Well,” he said, feeling annoyed, “I’m sure that’ll be a great comfort to the victims when they're dead.”

Well, shit. So much for getting her to trust him. He’d lost his temper, which was never a good idea. She was getting under his skin. He was _letting_ her get under his skin. He was starting to wish someone that else was taking her to Jedha. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was—”

“I’m not interested in your apology,” she said, cutting him off. “I didn’t ask to be part of this. None of this has anything to do with me. You people are just like them. You don’t care who you hurt, or what you have to do, as long as you get what you want. You want to know what happened? Okay. They showed up one day at our door, shot my mother, took my father away, and I never saw him again.”

“Why didn’t they take you?”

She didn’t answer at first, shaking her head and looking down. “They were going to, I think,” she said at last. “But my parents hid me. That’s all. They called Saw when they saw the ship coming, and I hid until he came to get me.” She sounded so sad that he felt an absurd desire to touch her, as if that would somehow make her feel better.

He mulled over her story. “Why Saw?”

“I don’t fucking know. What are you not understanding about ‘I was a child?’”

“But what about now? Why reach out to Saw now? Why take that risk?” He frowned, thinking. He’d been asking himself this question for days. If Jyn was right that her father wasn’t building weapons for the Empire by his own choice, could that explain it?

It didn’t make sense. Erso and Gerrera had been friends. Close enough that when Erso needed someone to take care of his daughter, it was Gerrera he entrusted her to. Even fifteen years ago, Gerrera had been firmly embedded in the anti-Imperial movement, small and disorganized as it had been back then, so why would an Imperial collaborator have been friends with him in the first place?

A lot could have happened in the intervening years. Maybe Erso had been won over to the Imperial cause. But then why send the message?

He had to get his hands on that message. None of this was going to make sense until he did.

“What is it?” said Jyn, sounding annoyed.

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure it out. If you’re right, it… organizes things.”

“What does that mean, organizes?”

“It makes a story that makes sense,” he said. “Or at least, parts of it do.” 

She paused, frowning. “Does that mean you believe me?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said, considering her.

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” said Jyn.

Of course, if Galen Erso were a secret rebel sympathizer — a possibility Cassian was not ready to embrace as true, but which he wasn’t prepared to rule out, either — that complicated some things.

So far he hadn’t wasted much time thinking about the last minute change to his mission. Too many things had to go right for it to even come to that. Now it was looming in his mind. Cassian was a good soldier; it wasn’t his place to question his orders. But he didn’t usually have two sets of orders that contradicted each other. _Forget what you heard in there. There will be no extraction._

The leadership of the Rebel Alliance was mostly… well, the polite term was “cautious.” Ordering an assination seemed out of character for them. Not that they never _did_ them, but normally that was on missions that people like Mon Mothma weren’t directly involved in. There was a decent chance that she, at least, really was expecting Cassian to bring Erso back. 

Even if Jyn was wrong about her father, it would probably be more helpful to capture him than kill him, if they could manage it somehow, which seemed unlikely. If the weapon was complete, or nearly so, killing Erso wouldn’t accomplish much. Interrogating him, on the other hand… If he wanted to cooperate, wonderful. If he didn’t, they had his daughter— 

_You people are just like them._

He shoved the thought aside. Now was not a good time for a flareup of conscience. He still needed to work through this puzzle, and get Jyn to trust him. Good luck with that, the nagging little voice told him. Why the hell should she?

“Are you done interrogating me?” Jyn asked.

“It’s not an interrogation,” he replied. “It’s a conversation.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes again. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

“Cassian,” he said, and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, but said nothing. 

“Nineteen years ago,” he said, “your father was in a CIS prison. Do you know why?”

“Not exactly a bedtime story you’d tell a little girl, is it?” she snapped. “But I suppose you’re going to tell me, so go ahead.”

“Refusing to design weapons for the Clone War. That’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“I think so. Do you think he’d have done it for the Republic?”

“I have no idea. Nineteen years ago I was two years old.”

“You and your mother were in that prison with him. Did you know that part? You were born there.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Saw mentioned that, yes. But so what?”

“So, think about it. You want me to believe he’s doing this work against his will. How are they forcing him to do it? He was willing to let his daughter grow up in prison rather than design weapons for the CIS, but he’ll do it for the Empire. Why?”

She looked to the side, her face crestfallen. “I keep telling you, I don’t know. I guess if we live long enough to hear his message, maybe we’ll find out.”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you keep calling them ‘the CIS?’” she asked, abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“No one calls them that. They just say ‘Seperatist.’”

He couldn’t think of a good answer for this, besides the truth, which he didn’t want to share. Although as she’d said, trust went both ways, and maybe she’d be more willing to open up if he did it first. The truth was, “Seperatist” was the word — often followed by “scum” — that clones had snarled at his family while shooting at them, and he didn’t like to say it. It was bad enough he had to work for the people who’d sent the clones there in the first place; using their word was a bridge too far. So he said “CIS.”

She was looking at him with frank curiosity. He had to say something. “I grew up in ‘Seperatist’ territory,” he said. “That’s not what they called themselves.” That was close enough to the truth, he hoped.

“You remember the Clone Wars that well? I didn’t think you were that old.”

“Not that well.” But well enough. Time to change the subject. “Jyn, we’re on the same side, here.”

“I’m not on any side. I’m just trying to keep myself alive.”

“I’d like to keep you alive, too.” He did, too. He’d said it without thinking about it, and it was true. Against his better judgment, he sort of liked her, which was another complication that he didn’t have time to worry about right now. “It’ll be a lot easier to do that,” he went on quickly, “if we can trust each other. Don’t you think?”

“That’s what people say when they think you’re useful to them,” she replied, cool. “And then once you’re not useful anymore, they change their minds. So no, I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you, and you’re not going to convince me to do either, so why don’t you just drop the little game?”

“I’m not playing a game,” he said, his frustration starting to boil over again. “I’m trying to keep us both alive so we can find your father and figure out what’s going on.”

“Of course you are,” she said, with thick sarcasm dripping off the words. “Why would I ever doubt you, Captain?”

“Cassian,” he said again, tamping down another flare of irritation and trying to replace it with something a little friendlier. “I don’t like being called ‘Captain,’” he said, in a tone like he was confessing something. “It makes me feel like I’m in trouble.” He smiled just a little and she laughed, which was a relief. Now they were getting along; now he might be able to get somewhere with her. If it also felt sort of good in a way that was entirely unrelated to the mission, well, he didn’t need to think about that.

“In that case,” she said, “You know I’m never going to call you anything else, don’t you, Captain?”

“I should have guessed,” he agreed, smiling at her. She was rather pretty for a girl who’d spent the last several months in a Wobani hard labor camp. There was something very striking about her eyes. Cassian wasn’t one to have his head turned by a pretty girl, of course — in his line of work, that was a great way to get yourself killed — but he was only human, so he couldn’t help _noticing_ it. There was nothing so unusual about that.

Quiet descended on the cabin, and he let it sit there, since it seemed she was a bit more disposed to trust him at the moment, and asking her any more questions at this stage was only likely to rile her up again. Cassian had never minded silence. It was often the safest thing.

“How much longer until we get there?” asked Jyn after a while.

“Not very long. K2 could tell you down to the second if you want to ask him.”

She scoffed, but it sounded like there was some laughter mixed into it. “I’ll pass.”

He chuckled slightly. “He means well, but he can be a bit…”

“Overbearing? Obnoxious?”

“Overprotective, maybe.”

Again that little scoffing laugh. “How sweet.”

“I know you are talking about me.” K2’s voice carried down the corridor from the cockpit. “I do not appreciate it.”

“Stop eavesdropping,” said Cassian. “It’s rude.”

“So is talking about me when you think I cannot hear. That is very rude. And how am I to ensure that Jyn Erso does not harm you if I do not pay attention?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” shouted Jyn. “I’m hardly going to hurt him when I’m trapped on a ship with you. I’m not an idiot.”

“Do you hear that, Cassian? She plans to harm you after we land.”

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant, K. Right?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at Jyn.

“I haven’t ruled anything out,” she said, but she said it with a little smile.

“Don’t antagonize him,” said Cassian. “If you think he’s been bad so far—”

“Stop talking about me like I am not here!” He heard the distinctive clank-clank of K2’s feet coming down the corridor, and the droid appeared in the entryway. “I do not understand why you do not listen to me, Cassian. I am only trying to help.”

“I know you are. But you don’t need to worry about this. Jyn’s not going to hurt me.”

“I don’t see any reason for you to be so confident in that assessment.”

“If she shoots me I’ll let you say ‘I told you so’ as much as you like, all right? Now go on back up to the cockpit.”

Although it shouldn’t be possible for a droid to slump or slouch, K2 managed to affect a demoralized posture as he clank-clanked his way back to the cockpit. “I will not be able to say ‘I told you so’ if you are dead,” he said sullenly.

When he glanced back at Jyn, she was studying him with an appraising expression. “How _are_ you so sure?” she asked. “How do you know I’m not going to kill you and run off as soon as we get to Jedha?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t think you will.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think you do want to know what’s in the message from your father, and I think you want to find him and get him away from the Empire, if we can.”

“And you think I need you to do that?”

“I think you’ll have a much harder time doing it without me. And I think I’ll have a much harder time doing it without you. So, if we both want the same thing…”

If we _do_ want the same thing, he thought uneasily. Unless I’m going to kill him when we find him. He batted the thought away. What were the odds it would ever even come to that? K2 would tell him it was as good as impossible. Getting to the message was going to be hard enough, but it seemed just within the realm of the possible that he could find it and learn what it contained. But actually locating Galen Erso and then getting close enough to kill him? It was so unlikely it wasn’t worth thinking about.

“It’s never going to work,” said Jyn, but she didn’t sound that certain.

“It might.”

She went on studying him with that expression like she was sizing him up. “All right,” she said. “Then I guess we’ll call it a truce. For now. Cassian.”

And if it felt good to hear her call him by name, there was nothing so unusual about that, either.


End file.
